“What was the name of your hotel again? Ah yes,” she adds, squinting at the map. “I see you are close to The Marriott Ginza. It shouldn’t be much of a walk.”

The coach, like all means of Japanese transportation, leaves exactly on time. Bags are loaded. Doors close. The girl in charge bows and holds her bow until we have completely passed by.

Whoops! We stop again. A young man climbs aboard displaying a yellow sign.

“Use of cellphones not permitted on the bus.”

He retreats down the steps, then bows. One-and-a-half hours later I am heading for the reception desk at The Marriot with my rolling backpack. Four receptionists bow. Feeling quite unworthy of all the fuss, I blurt out that I am actually staying down the road.

A doorman graciously leads me to my hostelry. I soon discover that bowing is still a charming way of life in Japan. Train conductors. Car rental clerks. Museum attendants. They are all at it. Waitresses tend to kneel beside your table. Obviously, it helps to be supple in the service industry.

My room is in a “business hotel.” Yes, it is diminutive, but efficient, equipped with everything a chap needs plus a few extras like a trouser-press, cotton swabs, shower caps etc. The bathroom began life as a cube in the Toto factory.

“How to” notes in Japanese and English are posted beside all moving parts. Just as well because the toilet is quite a complex-looking piece of machinery.

Once seated on the toilet, a gurgling sound comes from below.

Flushing is straightforward but it’s the lights and buttons on the bar at lap level that confuse me.

According to the rather explicit graphics, it seems to be all about jets of water. Warm or hot? Straight up or bidet style? Extra strong or gentle? No wonder it’s called a “Washlet.” Little towels are provided for the drying process.

The Tsukiji fish market moves over two million kilograms of fish daily — the largest in the world (all that sushi/sashimi). The tuna auction tops the “must-see” list in any respectable guidebook. All good things come at a cost even — if it’s free.

Instructions in my Lonely Planet are clear. Be there no later than 4 a.m. Only the first 120 people get in.

Jet-lag sometimes comes in handy. At 3:30 a.m. I am walking briskly down The Ginza, the most expensive real estate in Tokyo. I pass all the world’s top names in fashion. Lavish Christmas lights are already twinkling in store windows despite a countrywide Christian population of around one per cent. I hang a right past the Kabuki theatre. Twenty minutes later I join a line of bleary-eyed tourists. At 4:15 a.m. the lucky ones, including me, are ushered inside. A TV screen tells us this is a business, not a sideshow. Basically, behave or risk being sent home.

An hour later, and dressed in lime green jackets, we are herded through the “danger zone.” Tiny motorized carts dodge and weave around us like choreographed bumper cars. Bobcats reorganize mountains of empty Styrofoam boxes twice their height. The place is going at full tilt.

We survive to be led into the auction room. Row upon row of flash-frozen Bluefin tuna are being poked and prodded with instruments resembling small sickles by potential buyers. Two men mark the fish using cans of red paint. Each of these tuna will sell for $10,000 and up.

Suddenly the auctioneer rings a bell, delivers the usual indecipherable blur of words typical of auctioneers, and an hour and a half later all the fish is sold.

I join a lineup at one of hundreds of Tokyo’s best little sushi bars that surround the market and wait my turn.

It’s only 9 a.m. as I amble back towards my hotel. A crowd is forming outside the Kabuki theatre. I discover I can buy a ticket to a single act from a production that will last a full day — a convenient way of getting a taste of an ancient Japanese art. For a few yen, headsets delivering the high-pitched dialogue in English make all the difference.

Most one-act visitors are relegated to standing in the nosebleeds. I spot a seat with enough legroom for a 10-year-old. But it’s a seat! I was lucky to find a used copy of Shogun before leaving home, so when the leading actor dramatically grabs his sword and commits seppuku, (suicide), on stage I know he is doing the honourable thing!

The sidewalks are danger zones. Middle-aged cyclists and pedestrians are a poor mix. Bells and helmets haven’t come here yet and, despite a yellow line that supposedly divides the pavement, each group tends to claim ownership of the whole thing. The only warning I get is the creaking of old knees and loose chains approaching from behind.

Tokyo is a vibrant city of 20,000,000. I find that riding a hop-on-hop-off bus is a good way of discovering countless districts and their specialties. Kappabashi is famed for producing look-alike plastic meal displays to help gaijin (tourists) like me. Shimo-Kitazawa is a hot spot by day for funky used clothing and by night for lively bars and theatres. Jimbocho is the place for books. Asakusa looks busy and interesting. Maybe tomorrow?

Time to give the Metro a try. I head for one of the many Ginza stations. I guess at the fare to my destination. If I underpay, a few yen in the top-up machine will empower my ticket to open the exit gate. Pushers are thankfully absent.

I pass a ramen (noodle) restaurant on my way home. The pictures and prices look good. I find an empty stool at the wall counter and wait — and wait! Finally a gap-toothed waitress grabs me by the arm and leads me to a floor-to-ceiling machine by the door.

I am to choose my combination. Feed in the cash and take the ticket to a line of chefs. Soon a delicious steaming bowl is put in front of me. Ramen restaurants are serious eating places. Most customers are alone, in a rush, and anxiously checking their iPhones for evening plans or the next appointment. Slurping is considered essential to fully enjoy the texture and taste.

I am now exhausted and head back to my hotel where I note a few oddities of the day. Signs on the sidewalk stating “Do not smoke while walking” actually mean: “Save your butts for restaurants like McDonald’s where smoking is allowed.” The Metro is brilliant if you remember the exit number — Ginza has more than 20 to choose from.

Best of all, Japanese people are over-the-top helpful and will always assist if you are lost. I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings!

If you go

• Important stuff: If you intend to rent a car, (I did twice), get an International Driver’s Licence in Canada — your Canadian licence doesn’t cut it.

If you want to use the bullet trains, (who wouldn’t), buy a rail pass before you go. A one-week pass runs around $300.

Japanese don’t expect to be tipped. If you feel you must, put the cash in an envelope and use two hands to surreptitiously hand it to your chosen recipient.

• Hotels: My excellent hotel in Tokyo — The Hotel Gracery Ginza (ginza.gracery.com) — ran around $100 a night for a single. Currencies change — at the time of writing 100 Yen equalled $1 Cdn. In Japan you can pay very different rates for different nights. Weekends can cost a lot more. Try to book in advance. Japanese are not used to drop-ins.

• Food: From $10 for a simple meal to the sky is the limit. Wine is sold in grocery stores at generally cheap prices. More expensive in restaurants.

• Safety: Japan is the safest country I have ever visited.

• When to go: I went in November. The leaves were changing. Kyoto was especially stunning. It snowed in Hokkaido!

• Guide book: I found that Lonely Planet did a very good job on Tokyo and Japan in general. Buy a decent map at home. The novel Shogun by James Clavell is a great travel companion on a first trip to Japan.

• Overall: Japan has long been suffering from deflation. Once a stunningly expensive destination it is now a surprisingly reasonable country to visit.

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